


Four season's witch

by AidenFeliCane



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Drama, Fire, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, Other, Witch Hunts, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidenFeliCane/pseuds/AidenFeliCane
Summary: They burned their mother.After her, they were next 'cause they could also see the fairies, gnomes and unicorns. They were a family of witches.A run for survival made by the Kirkland brothers after they are identified as witches. Each season seems to bring them more and more despair as years go on.
Relationships: England & Sealand (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Summer

A blood curdling broken howl broke the still silence of the night. It came filled with pain, strong and visceral skidding across the threes and reaching Allistor’s ears. He stops and looks behind him, down the hill. The night is dark but he could see across it. Threes shaking their branches at the mercy of the wind, the grass overgrown dancing along them.

Away from them, there must be his brother, Dylan, howling in agony as the people torture him. They’re breaking him apart. Hurting but not killing, they want answers from him.

God damned stupid Dylan refuses to talk.

Allistor clenches his fist, presses little Peter to his chest a little tighter. Not wanting to hurt the baby, he concentrates his strength on his fist. His legs buckle when he makes an effort to keep walking ahead, away from his brother. He doesn’t want to go, but he can’t risk getting involved yet, Peter’s life depends on him finding Connor and Arthur.

As he resumes his pace, another howl runs through the air, sounding more like a scream at how high pitched it is. Allistor can’t help himself, he takes a sprint towards his brother.

In his run, he shakes baby Peter and wakes him up rudely. The baby starts crying out loud, uncomfortable on his brother’s arms. Allistor stops and starts trying to calm him down, humming slightly between a ragged breath and inexperienced arms. 

He manages to get him to sleep once more after several minutes. He’s never been the best at llulabing a baby, even Arthur was better at that ( _ and he was just a child! _ )

Little Peter sleeps once again, Allistor looks at his relaxed expression. His small rosy cheeks and big eyes, behind his eyelids they’re a beautiful blue reminiscent of the ocean. His eyes are crowned by eyebrows too thick for a baby, just like the rest of them. He smiles at the child. He can’t let them get to him, not to the last of his mother’s gifts.

Allistor turns back, he understands Dylan’s refusal to speak, his resistance to the immeasurable pain he is in. Dylan is young too, but he understood quicker than him: not all of them had to die that night.

The walk through the forest feels heavy and longer than it is, he’s walked on those forests before. Long hikes that he’s always felt like too short now transformed in an infinite walk as he hears his brother scream in the distance.

That evening, he had been having some tea in the garden with Arthur. The child decided after a long bickering to ignore him and speak to the fairies, offering them pastries that he had backed. They took them and then drank a lot of tea. Allistor though they were delicious even if he said nothing to Arthur.

Dylan was some ways from them, playing with Peter and the unicorn. Allistor noted that Peter was a little scared but curious, because he didn't have eyes as sharp as theirs, Peter could only hear the creatures.

When Arthur had finally forgotten his sulk, sitting in Allistors lap as he helped the fairies braid their hair, Connor arrived covered in ashes and out of breath. Allistor didn't move, he shouldn't to not scare Arthur. His brother passed by him, a single word leaving his mouth as he ran into their house "Fire"

They burned their mother.

After her, they were next 'cause they could also see the fairies, gnomes and unicorns. They were a family of witches.

He remembers himself, huggin Arthur closer to him, Arthur wincing at the rhougnes with which he held him, and a cloud of fading smoke forming behind the hills.

They had to escape now.

Their plan was simple, divide in groups so they risked less, then reunite in the same spot after losing the angry crowd. It worked for him, and he expected Connor to have been lucky too, Dylan couldn't have made it far. Allistor regretted the plan, together they could defend each other, separated they couldn't.

Driven by his instinct alone, Allistor soon found himself viewing the clearing in which an apple tree raised. In front of the tree Connor sat hugging Arthur close to him. Both were covered in blood, Connor from wounds made all over him and Arthur from hanging onto his brother. The kid covered his ears and trembled in fear, his little body shivering even in such a warm night. Allistor felt his heart break.

"Connor!" He said coming closer, his brother looking at him with a small smile which faded at the echo of a new scream. Arthur trembled harder on his lap letting out whimpers and sobbing. Connor shushed him as Allistor came closer with despair in his eyes as he tried to assess the facts. "What the hell happened to you?"

Connor smiled and said in a weak voice "It's fine. Not all is mine. I won't go to hell by myself" Allistor bit his lip. Shit. "I'll go back for Dylan. Take Arthur and go ahead. We're behind you"

He closed his eyes, no time for tears, they were still alive "You take them, I'll go back" He crouched and extended Peter to him but Connor shook his head leaving Allistor to cradle him in his arms again. He looked down, Arthur no longer covered his ears and looked straight at him. Big scared eyes like the ones in scared prey staring into his own. "Arthur, hold Peter for me. I'll help Connor up"

The child moves away, holding his baby brother like his mother taught him, his arms were small but he could do it. Since he was told that Peter was coming, he had taken it in himself to learn how to take care of him. It came natural to him it seemed, as he quickly catched up on how to sing him to sleep and how to hold him. Arthur wished for nothing but be the best big brother of all. Right now he is so confused as what is going on, an instant he laughts at Allistors dumb face, the next he is scared his big brothers will die. Would he die too?

Connor grunts as he gets up, his legs look shaky but after some moments he stands just right. He is tough, Allistor has always admired him for that. 

A scream is heard and they all look back, Arthur shakes, paralized in the spot huggin Peter close to him. He knows what's happening, awfully conscious of why their mother wasn't with them, why Allistor insisted so much in him having Peter.

The brothers remain silent, all knowing that they have an open field to go now. Dylan can't be saved and he is working as a distraction. But they can't abandon him, not to die alone and in pain, it's too cruel. "The north. Get as far north as you can'' Says Connor as he puts a blade on Allistors hand. The metal glistens in the moonlight, showing Allistor his own scared eyes. This sight alone perturbs him more. "Go ahead. I'm right behind" Connor is limping his way away from them. It reminds Allistor how helpless he is.

Gripping the blade he hurries to Connor "I'll go with you!" He likes to think that the more the best chance they have, but that's a lie. 

Connor sees him in disapproval, angered by his irresponsibility he fully turns and sees him straight in the eye "I'll go alone! You take Arthur and Peter and run!" Allistor remains there, standing but shaking. Connor knows he won't move, they lost one brother that night and never wished to lose another. Nonetheless Connor is a lost cause.

Allistor refutes "I'll go, I'm not leaving you alone" He hears a whimper from Arthur. A lump formed in his throat starts to ache "Arthur will take Peter, we can reunite in the meadows, the ones in the north" Doubt fills his words, Arthur remains shakyn in the same spot he's been standing in for the whole time.

"Arthur can't take care of Peter. You're leaving a baby in care of another baby" his voice breaks, Allistor's expression is too painful to bear.

They hug and when they let go they know it's the end.

Allistor picks Arthur up, Peter is held in between them, warm and protected as he runs away, to the north, away from this death.

Connor waves goodbye to a teary eyed Arthur. 

When he can no longer see them in the distance Connor sheds his human skin and emerges as the big bad wolf. Bleeding and hurt he runs into the forest, smelling Dylan's blood and the angered men's adrenaline.

He's dead and he's angry. He runs straight into them, to the trap and his death, but he doesn't care. He tears as many people as he can on his way to Dylan. His brother is there, tied down and burned all over, still alive.

Connor cries out as he takes his brother's life out of mercy. His blood dripping from his muzzle and a severed head, it tastes like metal. He runs to the fiery stake they prepared then, lighting himself on fire he sends a last painfull howl that Allistor hears in the distance. Allistor presses Arthur and Peter to him.

For some reason he remembers the summer day Peter was born. He had been so happy, a new brother for their family. Their new reason to be happy. Arthur had sulked at Allistor for huggin Peter so much after he refused to do the same with him. He allowed Arthur to sleep beside him every night after it, agreeing also to play more with him.

He feels Arthur's tears on his shoulder, wetting his clothes and staining them with some of the blood he still has all over him. Conor's blood.

At the thought, he feels himself crying. His brother loves them. 

Allistor loves his brothers.

Allistor would protect his brothers against anything at all cost.


	2. Fall

Arthur’s eighteen fall received him with a man dragging him by the hair, long and untamed. He hadn’t cut it out of pure laziness, something Allistor had reproached him with not much right to do so as his red hair had also grown to shoulder length.

He didn’t have it anymore though, the moment they catched him they had cut his hair. Now it was Arthur’s turn, he had been found and was trapped. They dragged him out, to the open field where more people were gathered, knives, tridents and torches ( _ God forsaken torches _ ) in hand. They waited patiently until he was restrained, limbs tied up and a knife to his throat.

Francis marched from the crowd holding a short blade. The handle is a color golden with a red ruby on the end, well balanced and sharp. Arthur had given him that blade.

He saw him in the eye, pleading, scared and with feelings of betrayal rising. He didn’t want to beg but he had to “Please, please leave Peter. He’s a child” No response was said, not in words at least, as Francis grabbed a handful of his hair and cut it.

They believed a witch was powerless without their long hair. But they also believed that throwing a tied person into the river and seeing them drown proved them innocent from witchcraft. They were fools, the dangerous type.

Peter was dragged out too eventually, his cries for help filling Arthur with anger. He could do it, he could force them away from his little brother. Make their bodies explode from the inside out, make their ears bleed and leave them deaf. He could do a lot of terrible things to them.

“Francis! ¡Please! I’m begging you!” He screamed, pulling his restraints trying to get to his little brother. Francis remains silent, he only gives him the cold shoulder and guides the people holding the brothers back to the church.

Arthur fights all the way, gaining punches and kicks. Peter is lifted from the ground and carried on the shoulder. He tries to free himself by biting the ropes on his hands but ends up only hurting his gums. Peter is scared and only hearing Arthur’s grunts and half cries puts him into full panic.

Both smell smoke and hear a long recital of praying as they near the church. Arthur can see the building now, as always gloomy, made from black wood. He’s never had trouble with it, but now, he loathes the place, it looks crooked and full of anger and envy. The envy goes to him, God must envy his family, curse them for being so happy as well as demons. Un natural. Harmful. Full of sin.

They called them evil witches, charged crimes on their names and loathed them. Death was the punishment, and to make sure the black magic disappeared and was purified from their crooked lives, they shall burn them. Burn them witches.

He’s thrown face first to the ground, the taste of blood fills his mouth, in front of him is Allistor, tied on a stake. Arthur looks up, away from the wood for the bonfire in the foot of his brother, in his brother’s eyes there’s nothing but terror. The revival of a long survived nightmare. The end of summer and the beginning of their long fall.

Peter is roughly dropped beside Arthur. He moves fast and holds him best he can with tied hands. He tries to hug him and whispers sweet promises in his ear “We’ll be ok” is what he repeats the most, he wants to believe it too.

The priest steps up, he doesn’t even look at them, he only opens his bible and beggins talking, the brother doesn't care for whatever he says. It’s nonsense to fill the heads of the congregation, convince them that this is not wrong to do, sush off the oppositions and lift the weight of guilt from their hearts ( _ If it was possible for them to feel any guilt at all) _

Behind the priest rises the slim figure of Francis. He does look at them with coldness that chilled Arthur to his very core. Those were the same eyes that had met his own in summer, last year, the ones he had found warm and endearing. He had loved those eyes. They could look with such love yet now they were cold as steel.

Arthur found himself admiring Francis all over once again. Golden curly hair that never tangled like his, well kept and clean, brushed and washed with regularity. His face reminded him of those from the nymphs or the most beautiful off fairies. Francis was his adoration, Arthur had loved him long since he met him last year.

Last year was so good. Peter had grown so much, he had learned how to change from his human skin, also he was learning how to cock from him. Allistor was a pain, as always, but his way of loving was just different. They were almost over the terrible tragedy.

Then he met Francis in the forest. The man was so handsome Arthur though he was a male nymph or an angel. He was mesmerized by him and befriended him in a strange way. He fell in love and he was loved. He had shown Francis his gift, made little things that Francis called miracles for a time.

Francis was taught differently every time he spoke to the priest about the boy in the forest. Arthur who had helped him fly without wings was an evil being who lived under the power of Satan. His soul tainted with sin was condemned to the fire of hell and if Francis so wanted to befriend and love this boy he’d be condemned too. He was absolved from this sin when he pointed his finger into the lair of the witches, the nest of evil in their forest that begged to be cleansed from sin.

Arthur sees how Francis is happy about this. His soul was saved and the witches were punished for their witchcraft and evil deeds. Arthur sees through him, he isn't happy. He cries holding his brother close to him trying to ease his pain.

Allistor looks down, to his brother’s and the crowd. In the state of despair he is in he can’t think of how to solve this, his resolute mind feeling fuzzy at the inexorable rage that burns deep inside. It burns him from inside. Burn from inside. His eyes travel to Arthur, he perks up and denies with his head. Allistor smiles wishing with all his heart to drown the voices of the prayer.

“Thou says God, witches tainted with the devil’s power must be burned to be purified!” A false jury of justice, Francis raises a torch and walks to the stake. He cast a last glance at Arthur, he flinched but lit it up.

Arthur doesn’t scream, his voice is caught in his throat. Allistor does scream.

The voices of the prayer. His brother's burnt flesh smells. His screams. Peter cried. Francis standing there as if mesmerized by the sight. It drives Arthur mad.

The rage in Arthur lights up with the fire burning his brother. Too much rage to be kept inside, he looks at Francis, his beautiful face accentuated in the fire. His blue eyes are still beautiful. Arthur lashes his rage on him.

From the inside, Francis feels heat rising on him. The blood in his veins way too hot, almost boiling. His eyes hurt, he grabs his face, he feels it burn. Francis screams in pain. His whole body is burning.

Through his fingers he sees Arthur crying with a face so hurt it pains him, Francis sheds tears for him. A blink and the next thing he sees is a cat holding a bird on his muzzle, a kind of bird he had only seen overseas. The next moment they’re gone and his face doesn’t burn anymore.

He turns his eyes up, to the man burning in the stake, he’s dead already, but somehow he seems peaceful. Francis cries more. He can never forget why he sheds those tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really love to have a less of a cold blooded Francis, but this are hard times so I needed him a little more empty headed.


	3. Winter

He remained still as Arthur retrieved his embroidery from the adjacent table, he pretended to be sleeping keeping his eyes closed and motionless. His brother moved slowly believing him, his arms trying to take a comfortable position around him and in his work. He managed in the end, putting his arms around Peter’s head and resting them on his shoulders, still keeping all the weight in his arms.

Peter didn’t move, too comfortable to comply about anything. He wanted to relax anyway and having his brother surround him like that was helping, Peter started feeling actually tired and sleepy.

A fire cracked from the chimney, it provided enough light for Arthur to work at the same time as not being too bright for Peter. They weren’t so close to it, so most of the warmth came from their bodies and a blanket over both. Peter couldn’t bear being so close to a fire lately, it brought more nightmares. Arthur understood and let the child be, he himself still had trouble around the same fire.

It was night and the sky was as full of stars as ever, they might have liked to go out in this night as it was so beautiful to look at. A clear night in the middle of winter was rare; they should be out, exploring the woods and playing fooly in the snow. Sadly they couldn’t, the townspeople were out there, preparing another pyre and praying. Both could hear them talking, terrible curse words and evil wishes being passed around as they prepared for the main event.

Arthur felt the small chill of memories long buried being brought back. They weren’t coming for them, he said to himself to avoid entering into panic, it was another person, a young woman who they misguidedly believed to be a witch. Arthur felt sorry for her, nonetheless, he was glad it wasn’t them this time.

For all his calm, Arthur still took Peter out of bed to have him close. His anxiety still raises up every now and then when he heard them laugh aloud, or push more wood into the pyre. He’d close his arms more around Peter then, feeling his little brother still with him helped him get calm. Still, a pain raised in his chest from the expectation, it made breathing difficult.

He tried concentrating in his work, the small pattern he was covering was actually an old one that he had made for Allistor. Of course, he had to remake it, as the original handkerchief didn’t exist anymore. After their escape, the crowd who burned Allistor had gone to their old house and burned it down, Arthur had little time to try and get anything useful from there and the handkerchief hadn’t been something he thought of at first. That and the rest of his family personal belongings had disappeared.

it had been a reason for him to get even more depressed at first. Peter helped him to understand better, the child pushed him to go on, for they were the last reminder of their family. The memories were stronger when they were around each other. It took time, but he finally understood and went along the flow of time.

Arthur pushed the needle through the fabric, pulling the string along in the correct way to give it shape. The string’s tail left to fall over Peter’s back, it retracted and reappeared as he kept repeating the operation. Arthur was careful that neither the needle or the string ever fell close to Peter’s face or neck, all to avoid disturbing the child’s pleasant sleep.

Looking at his pattern, he also saw Peter over him. His calm face resting over his chest and arms limp still holding onto his shirt. It seemed all of a sudden that Peter was still the little baby that he would care for while Allistor hunted in the night. The small creature was always restless because of hunger, their mother could’t finnish nursing him properly and they were both men and unable to find a substitute. Their magical friends couldn’t provide them with much help, so Peter was raised in a base of tea and porridge, not the best but at least it worked to have him grow healthy.

A smile formed on his face looking at his brother’s sleeping face. He wondered if Allistor ever felt the way he did at the moment, for as long as he had known, he had been the closest to him since he was a baby. Allistor would put up with him when it was necessary, and get him back to place when Arthur was being either naughty or foolish.

The second question raised in his head, why hadn’t Allistor forbid him from being close to Francis? He had always been the wary one, so he should have seen the danger in Arthur befriending the young man. He definitely did, but never said anything.

Some nights, Arthur still thought that maybe it was Allistor’s way of showing his trust in him. A test to confirm that the little child who he had cared for was finally an adult. Sadly, it ended in tragedy for them.

His careful hand slipped in the needle at the sudden sound of a shout. He didn’t let it fall and ended up pricking his finger with it, he hissed silently concentrating his ear in the sounds of outside. More shouts came in the distance making his heart begin pumping faster. The same words of before he tried to repeat to calm it down, but his instinct screamed for him to run. 

Arthur presses his brother closer to him, embroidery left hanging on his hand as he keeps his eyes on the door. There was definitely no way they were coming for them, this time it wasn’t them being dragged across the dirt, insulted and abused. Ignored as the pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, drowned in the voices of prayer and hate. He knows he is not the one out there and just tries to sit and listen.

Outside, the maihem breaks the stillness of the night, screams from the townspeople as they watch the one they believe is a witch being taken out into the plaza. They throw stuff at her, keeping distance as she is guided towards the stake. Tied hands and hair cut, Arthur can see them, he has that ability, her face full of distress as she knows nothing she could say or do will save her. Arthur silently slips in her mind, for several minutes he feels what she feels. The hatred and fear are all over her thoughts, also the betrayal. Oh so much betrayal, he knows how it is.

Silent tears slip from his eyes as he feels the ropes being tied, the body held firm against the wood. Her uncovered feet hurt from steeping on the dry logs and sticks. That stops mattering as the sentence is read. Arthur does her a favor, pulls her out of it before the real pain starts, her consciousness is put into a happy dream and only Arthur’s remains present for the lecture and the punishment. He cries more, his own body trembling in fear and clutching Peter.

Finally they set it on fire and it hurts as much as he remembers, the unbearable sensation of burning flesh and suffocating lungs. He doesn’t resist much until he knows the body has died finally. she’s gone and he lets go of the remaining nervous reactions. Arthur takes a deep breath settling back into the solitude of his own mind.

All is disarray and confusion, phantom pain that runs through his nerves. The kind of sensation that is not there but it feels as if it was. The brain toying with the body to make it believe it is hurt.

Filled with pain Arthur looks down at Peter, he is awake, looking at Arthur with a similar hurtful expresion. He must have followed, he’d never know at what degree he felt the pain or the fear, he only knew his brother was going through an unbearable amount of pain.

“Peter, goddamn you!” He screams squeezing Peter into a hug. The child follows clenching his fists and biting his lip, fat tears leaving his eyes. Drowned wails that get stuck on his throat are only heard as whimpers and strained cries. Peter can’t believe his family had gone like that, mother and his older brothers, every single one of them had suffered that hell.

“Hurts... Arthur it hurts!” He manages to say in a line of voice. Arthur holds him and starts rocking back and forth “It burned, it hurts Arthur!” Their eyes fill with tears, the elder brother has his heart break once again at the child’s crying. He can’t save his brother from the horrid pain of this life, he only shares it, hoping that maybe that can make it bearave.

Arthur hums a lullaby and keeps rocking back and forth, just the way he knows it made Peter fall into slumber as a baby. Doing more than that was impossible even for him. This transforms his pain into frustration, Peter shouldn’t have to go through this. “You’re fine. We’ll be ok. I promise. I swear to you!” He signs that in his heart and sings for his brother.

The phantom of fire disappears allowing the cold of the winter to come back again. Peter releases a breath into the cold, smiling as he does so. Not even him knows why.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know, the reason Peter only hears the spirits is because he is from a different father, in fact, I pictured them all as sons from different fathers. Britania (their mother) is in fact a witch with magic and it passes on to her sons. Peter's magic is duller since he inherits more from his father, contrary to the rest who resemble Britania more.


End file.
